Skin Deep
by EightSixEightSeven
Summary: In the 1950s a special free clinic has been set up to offer groundbreaking cosmetic surgery to those disfigured in the recent global war, but is the enterprise as benevolent as it seems? The Fourth Doctor thinks not...
1. Episode 1

**Doctor Who**

**SKIN DEEP**

**By Alex Lee Rankin**

**Episode I: **_**Medicine**_

Nurse Newman took the calendar down from the wall and flipped the chart onto the new month. As she hung it back up again, she stared at the first date on the chart, wondering how different things would be in this new decade. What would the 1950s have to offer that people couldn't have enjoyed in the 1940s (if there hadn't been a war)? There were rumours that the Japanese were inventing things – newer, more modern alternatives to the wireless and things like that. There was all manner of talk like that about these days, but so much could be said of every time a new decade, or probably even a new century, was ushered in. Deep down the world wouldn't change all that much, the nurse thought sadly. Even if there were not any more wars there would still be men who wanted to kill other men, and some who would go and do it, and there would still be poverty and homelessness and poor creatures like these to look after. She turned and looked at the beds in the ward. Just kids, these were. There were a good few adults, mostly women and the elderly, in the wards upstairs, but these were just kids and the state of them... And all for the sake of one crackpot who wanted to take over the world. What was the human race coming to? Thank goodness, thought Nurse Newman, for the tiny handful of folks there were in the world like the men who had set up this fine hospital. Kind, wealthy humanitarians whose influence could buy a new lease of life for some people, even after those people had been debased and disrupted by war. The Estensen brothers and their project had given people hope. They dabbled in new scientific ideas, and had discovered a means of grafting good skin over disfigured or corrupted tissue. The brothers did not promise people that they would get their old faces back, but they did promise that his new 'cosmetic surgery' procedures might at least give them a face that people could see in the street without feeling sickened or frightened. Men, women and children had come in droves, and there had been quite some success. Two severely disfigured girls had gone home pretty and smiling last year, and for that something had to be said.

"Happy New Year."

The soft voice startled Nurse Newman and she whirled round to see one of the patients standing at the end of the ward. The little girl had a half-and-half face. One side was normal, a pretty round face with a bright green eye and tresses of wavy red hair. The other side was pinkish-brown, blistered and misshapen, the eyelids melted shut, the hair a mess of lank silver knots. It was almost as if she wore a Halloween mask. It was like that all down her body, the nurse knew. The little girl wore her nightgown now, but Nurse Newman had dressed her many times. Half-and-half from head to toe, an invisible line separating the pure, clean right side of her chest, her abdomen and even her genitalia from the parched, deformed left side. One arm smooth and white, the hand with normal, flexible fingers; the other arm brown and blistered and twisted, the hand a club with fingers fused together in pairs like a bestial claw. Nurse Newman glanced down at the 'claw' and the ragged, threadbare teddy that hung from it. She never let that thing leave her side. "Go back to bed, Maisie," the nurse said quietly. "It's only just after midnight. You should be asleep."

She turned back to the calendar and checked to make sure it was straight. Mr Ustad was something of a perfectionist and he liked everything to be exactly in order. She turned away from it and walked down the ward to the double-doors. She could still feel eyes – or an eye – burning into her back like a cutting flame. She turned back. "Maisie," she sighed. "Go back to b..."

There was no one there. The ward was empty but for the children asleep in their beds.

_**Nine weeks later**_

"I do not think I like Brighton, Doctor," Leela declared as she sat on the end of the pier in the purple and white striped late-1940s-cut bathing suit that she had found in the TARDIS wardrobe. She was used to brief clothing – better for a warrior to bear as few physical encumbrances as possible – but the wind was cold and her skin was reddening and becoming chapped. There was no one on the pier and no one on the beach, and the cafes, amusements and ice-cream stands were all shuttered up. Earlier in the day a man had walked a dog along the beach, but nothing more exciting than that had happened.

The Doctor's head burst spontaneously from a red-and-white striped changing tent and he looked as though her statement had taken him completely by surprise. "You don't like it?" he hooted in absolute incredulity, which then suddenly changed in its usual irritating way to an almost childlike curiosity. "Why not?"

"It is cold," Leela replied flatly. "And there is no one here. I wear almost nothing and just sit here on the end of this... this..."

"It's called a pier," said the Doctor. "And it's one of the most famous piers in Britain. People are always coming here for short holidays to amuse themselves."

Leela glanced around. "Well, there is no one here now," she said. "And there is nothing to amuse us."

The Doctor stepped out of the changing tent, very much unchanged, still in his usual coat, waistcoat, shirt, trousers, boots and large broad-brimmed hat, not to mention the enormous and rather ridiculous scarf. "It's just the wrong time of year, that's all," he shrugged. "You know, I really must get the TARDIS seen to."

"You say that many times, Doctor," said Leela. "And never do it."

"All right," the Doctor replied huffily. "I will! I'll take her in now for her five hundred year service!" and he turned on his heel and marched away along the pier.

Leela scrambled to her feet and jogged to catch up with him. "We are going back to the TARDIS?"

"Yes," the Doctor confirmed. "It'll give you a chance to put some proper clothes on."

The pair walked back up the deserted pier toward the street upon whose corner the TARDIS was parked. The Doctor had explained to Leela that it would be perfectly fine there with the 'Out of Order' sign hanging on the handles, as Police Boxes were rather commonplace in Britain in this time period and no one would give it a second look. Leela had reserved her judgement, but the Doctor had been totally confident.

Which was why it was such a shock to him when he arrived on the corner to find that the TARDIS was gone...

The door closed behind the two men as they stepped out into the driving rain and started to walk back to the car. The battered Ford 2GA was marred with patches of rust and scratched paintwork, and it was generally unreliable and inclined to break down at the drop of a hat, but that didn't keep it from presenting a rather welcome refuge to the two police detectives who clambered into it and slammed the doors tight shut against the weather. Chief Inspector Gideon took off his dripping trilby hat and threw it in his usual casual manner over his shoulder onto the back seat, and Sergeant Hobbs did the same. "What a day to be out in it," Hobbs grimaced through the passenger window. "They pick the best weather, don't they?"

"Crime isn't football, Alec," Gideon replied sternly. "Rain stopped play? I don't think so, son."

Alec sighed. "No, I suppose not. Hardly the crime of the century, though, nicking a police box."

Gideon started the car, or rather attempted to start the car, grunting as he fiddled with the choke and shuffling his feet on the pedals. "Well we've had a look at it and now it's somebody else's problem," he told his sergeant flatly. "If anyone else can open it."

The car spluttered into life.

As it rolled up to the junction at the end of the road, Alec Hobbs opened the glove box and removed, of course, his gloves, which he pulled on quickly. "Well, what are we doing now, then?" he asked, remembering that the Chief Inspector had received a phone call while at the station in Brighton from his own people at Scotland Yard and been very enigmatic about it.

"We've got something else to investigate," Gideon told him. "Something a bit more what you'd call tasty."

"Oh?" asked Alec, intrigued.

"A dead body," exclaimed Gideon with over-dramatised excitement.

Alec raised an eyebrow in surprise. "Tasty," he said.

"Mr Lea!"

Philip Lea stopped as he heard someone call his name and turned to look up the corridor to see who it was. Staff Nurse Bennett was trotting toward him, giving the awkward smile she always put out when she was about to ask a favour that she really oughtn't to ask. He made an effort to give her a reassuring smile back. "What can I do for you this morning, Norah?"

"I was wondering if I might see Mr Ustad this afternoon?" Norah said. "I think I have a Grade Four selectee for the Estensens' approval."

"Really?" Lea was suddenly interested. "Which of the patients were you considering?"

"Wright," Norah told him, handing over a clipboard with the patient's details on it. "Ward 14A. She's the neediest of the children, and I think she fits the criteria."

Lea checked over the charts on the clipboard, chewing his lip. "I'm not sure," he murmured. "We've not tried the procedure on any of the children before. Of course they're as entitled to the surgery as any of the adults, but you can understand with the young ones we have to be careful."

"And we will be," another voice smoothly added itself to the conversation and a white-gloved hand carefully but firmly took the clipboard from Lea's. "Now let's have a look at this, shall we?"

Lea turned and really put on a smile this time. "Mr Ustad," he said fawningly. "What an unexpected pleasure, sir. And how are Messrs Estensen?"

Absorbed in the patient charts on the clipboard, Ustad waved Lea away casually with his free hand and then glanced up. "It's a little early in the morning for sycophancy," he said. Then, as Lea walked away to get back to his work, Ustad looked at Norah Bennett. "Why wasn't this patient brought to my attention sooner, Staff Nurse?" he demanded calmly but with definite authority.

"As Mr Lea said, sir," explained Norah. "You've not worked on any of the children yet. We were wondering if perhaps either Mr Estensen might be putting it off until you were ready. Children are a lot different from adults, aren't they?"

"We're all human," Ustad replied casually. "Children have precisely the same organs as adults, just rather smaller." He gave the clipboard back to Norah. "Prepare Maisie Wright at once for complete cosmetic enhancement of her left side. I'll be operating tonight."

Norah nodded. "Yes sir," she said as she left.

The Doctor barged through the doors of the police station with all the delicacy and discretion of a hippopotamus riding on a shopping trolley and charged the front desk with equal calm, peaceful reservation. There was a sergeant manning the desk who looked like he'd seen better days, his hair greying and wispy, his face round and a little too rosy and his uniform pinching at his blubber. He had been leafing through some custody sheets for the sake of something to do on this boring day when the weather seemed too miserable for even the robbers and brawlers to be out, and then suddenly the doors had parted like the Red Sea and this wild-eyed, wild-haired nutcase had stormed in. Well, Sergeant Hubert John Gladstone Knox was not going to have a bar of him. Sergeant Knox pushed out his chest and chin (as best he could in his ill-conditioned state) and looked sternly at the entering stranger. "Now, then," he cautioned. "What's all this palaver, eh?"

The wild man slammed the palms of his hands down on the desk and stared right into Knox's eyes. There was something distinctly odd about him. "I'm looking for a police box," he announced as if such an enquiry were a normal everyday thing in this place.

Knox's expression drooped. Definitely completely round the bend. "Well, we don't keep them on station, sir," he explained drily. "Normally they're littered about the town. But if you have a crime to report, there's no need for a box, sir. You can do it here in the station."

The nutcase seemed to change in that instant, and his wild, mad look became a delighted grin, his eyes seeming suddenly friendlier. "Oh," he beamed. "Well, in that case, Sergeant, I'd like to report a theft."

"A theft, sir," Knox nodded, producing his notebook and a pencil. "And what precisely has been stolen, sir?"

"A police box," the Doctor replied.

Knox put his pencil down and sighed. "No disrespect, sir," he said tiredly, "but are you pulling my leg?" The madman didn't answer, his expression changing again to one of surprise. "Police boxes are the property of the police force, sir," Knox continued. "It's impossible for..."

"This one isn't," the Doctor said, this time wearing a completely serious face. "This one belongs to me."

"Are you a member of the Brighton Police, sir?"

"No."

"Are you a member of any British Police Force, sir?"

"No."

"Are you a representative of the Home Office of Her Majesty's Government, sir?"

"No."

Knox sighed again. "Then, with respect, sir, the police box..."

The Doctor rummaged in his pockets and produced a wallet, which he flipped open to reveal an identity card. He counted himself fortunate that he had not for once left this one in the TARDIS. He held it up in front of Knox's hawk-like nose. "...Is _my_ property," he said quietly, finishing the sentence with firm finality.

Knox blushed. "I'm sorry, sir," he blustered. "Perhaps if you'd told me you were with the Secret Service..."

"Ssh!" the Doctor hissed, raising a finger quickly to his lips. Then he leaned in conspiratorially and said in a hushed voice, "Well, I can hardly go around telling everybody, can I? What kind of Secret Service agent would I be if I couldn't keep a secret?"

Knox nodded, fighting to smile. "Oh, yes. Of course, sir."

Suddenly the Doctor was upright and loud again. "So, about my box?"

"We did have a police box brought in this afternoon," Knox informed him. "Was a bit of a mystery – till you came on the scene, that is – because no one knew where it had come from. It certainly wasn't supposed to be there. We've got records showing the locations of every one we have. A couple of our bobbies tried to open it, but nobody's been able to get in. We popped open the telephone and had a go on that too, but it wasn't connected."

"Yes," the Doctor nodded. "I'm afraid it's not a real police box."

"I see, sir. May I ask what it is that you've seen fit to disguise as a police box?"

"I'm afraid I couldn't possibly answer that. Top secret, you see."

The policeman nodded and put away his notebook and pencil. "I'll have it signed out to you at once, sir. I take it you can verify that you have the right to claim it?"

The Doctor nodded. "Just make a telephone call to Whitehall and tell them the Doctor wants his police box back."

It was raining.

The rain was hard and heavy, continuing and relentless like the onslaught of a powerful tribe driving into war, the hammering of the fast, heavy raindrops on roofs and walls like the jungle drums sounding the order to attack. It was cold and the sky was grey, and the ground beneath Leela's feet was grey, and the walls around her were grey. The people of this world seemed to care a lot for gaunt, hard, grey things. Even the windows of the grey buildings were streaked with grey dirt that even the rain from the grey sky didn't wash away. Leela pulled the Doctor's coat and scarf around her and hoped that he would find the TARDIS soon. Beneath the coat she was still practically naked, and she was beginning to feel ill. Also she wasn't armed. There weren't many places in a bathing suit where one could stash a blade. That made her feel undressed and unsafe more than the simple brevity of her clothing ever could. Two men stepped out of the door near to where she was, as per the Doctor's instructions, doing her best to conceal herself. He had said that a young girl walking around with hardly any clothes on might be looked upon rather negatively, and that the police might decide to lock her up in a cell if they found her, which was ridiculous considering that it had apparently been perfectly all right to wear this tiny garment on the beach. The two men strode down the steps toward a black machine. Since their arrival in Brighton, Leela had seen a few of these travel machines moving about. The Doctor had called them cars. The men entered the machine and sat inside it for a moment, the doors closed, apparently talking.

Then the Doctor stepped out, accompanied by one of the Blue Guards that he called 'police', like the word on the TARDIS, but not like, as he had once explained, much to her further confusion. Sometimes she thought he did it deliberately, that he thought her stupid and teased her. Sometimes it made her angry. He passed her a bag. "Clothes," he said. "From the TARDIS."

Leela took the bag gratefully. "Where will I dress?"

"You'll have to do it in the car," the Doctor told her. "Don't worry. Constable Marsh is a gentleman. He won't look."

The car that the other two men had been talking inside suddenly gave a roar. Constable Marsh glanced at the Doctor. "Shall we go, sir?"

The Doctor nodded. "I think we'd better. Come on."

"Body is certainly the word, Chief Inspector." Dr Watts rubbed at his hands with a square of linen as he led the two detectives into the mortuary. The body lay uncovered on the slab, white and grey and cold and inert, and with quite a few pieces missing. "As you can see, all we have here is a torso with arms and legs. The head, hands and feet have been cut off."

Chief Inspector Gideon looked down at the body, slowly shaking his head. "That's nasty. Who'd want to do a thing like that?"

"That is your province to find out, Chief Inspector," said Watts. "I can't even identify him for you. No one can. I expect that's why those body parts were taken away in the first place. I can only tell you that the deceased is male, and I can only tell you that because the killer didn't feel the need to remove the penis or testicles."

"Thank you, doctor," grimaced Gideon. "So they cut off the head so that no one would recognise his face..."

"Or be able to identify him by his dental records. Teeth can tell a tale or two, you know. And his hands and feet to prevent him being identified by police by fingerprints or footprints. So it's very likely he had a criminal record, and because footprints aren't widely used, I'd say it's for something the chap did with his shoes off."

"That's a lot of use. Where was he found?"

"Jammed between a couple of rocks in a weir about five miles from here. Not all that far from that new hospital with the fancy foreign name. You know the one, all that 'cosmetic surgery' stuff, patching up disfigured faces and such."

"The Estensen Cosmetic Research Hospital," Sergeant Hobbs said from the back of the room, where he stood in order to keep himself from looking at the remains on the slab. He hated morgues. "Up in the country."

Gideon nodded decisively. "Then we'll make that our first port of call. Maybe he worked there." And he marched toward the exit. "Come on, Alec."

Suddenly a man burst in, accompanied by a uniformed constable and a woman in an Argyll sweater and thick trousers. "I need to take a look at that body," the man announced.

Dr Watts stepped back, taken by surprise. "Who are you, sir?" he demanded.

"We'd all like to know that, sir," Gideon announced as he stepped in.

The Doctor produced his wallet again. "I'm an investigator for the Secret Service," he snapped, darting for the body and crouching beside the slab to examine it closely. "I've been sent to enquire into the possibility of a forthcoming invasion."

Gideon looked concerned. He'd heard that there was a lot of unrest between the Americans and the Russians these days. People were calling it the 'Cold War' and Britain was getting dragged into it by the ankles. "Russians, is it?" he asked. "Planning a strategic move to occupy us so they can get one over on the Yanks?"

"Something like that," the Doctor murmured. "Leela, come and look."

Sergeant Hobbs looked shocked. "That's no sight for a lady, sir!" he blustered.

"Leela's no lady," the Doctor said. "She's a savage. An... an Amazon. She knows more about brutal killings than anyone in this room."

Leela was examining the lump of meat on the slab. "It is like an execution," she said. "He has offended the leader of his tribe and there is no redemption. So foul is he that the leader of his tribe has declared that no one, not even the Gods, shall know him. So they cut away all the things that give him a name. A large blade is used, heavy and sharp, so that each hand, each foot and the head can be cut away with a single blow."

The Doctor smiled grimly. "A bit of a primal way of putting it, but I'd say more-or-less accurate."

"You think this was some kind of gang ritual?" asked Hobbs.

"That's not what I said," the Doctor answered darkly. "I'm going to need your help," he said, rounding on Chief Inspector Gideon. "With all the unrest between the East and West at the moment, my department is spread rather thinly, and so I'm going to have to enlist support from whatever authorities are available locally. I trust you're not averse to doing your public duty, for the good of your country, Chief Inspector?"

"I wasn't averse to it when I volunteered to go and fight the Nazis," declared Gideon, piercing blue eyes staring at the Doctor brightly. "I'm certainly not bloody well averse to it now."

"Good man," said the Doctor. "Then let's go." And he made for the door. Leela followed him.

"Go where?" asked the Sergeant.

"To the Estensen Hospital," the Doctor called from the corridor outside. "I have a feeling the answers will be there!"

Gideon and Hobbs glanced at each other, grabbed the constable and followed.

The Estensen brothers were twins. That was quite interesting. It wasn't often one saw twins, especially working in an office together. They were what people called identical twins, looking but for a few near-imperceptible details exactly alike, and for that reason alone Maisie Wright liked them instantly. She also liked them because they promised that they would give her back her normal face, make it pretty like it was before her accident. She had been fetched from her bed by Nurse Newman that evening, just after supper, and taken to Mr Ustad's office. Mr Ustad had asked Maisie if she would like to be the next to have the procedure, and the child had of course jumped at the chance. She had been living in the hospital now for eight months – residency had been mandatory for those who wanted the procedure – and she'd begun to wonder if they'd ever allow her to have the treatment. Often she'd look at her gnarled, twisted claw-hand hatefully, and she'd even bite it and make it bleed, as if she were punishing it. For a time Mr Ustad had been forced to order her placed on 24 self-harm watch so that if she tried to hurt herself she could be caught and stopped before doing any serious harm. Ustad had insisted that Maisie should not be punished for harming herself. He'd explained to the doctors and nurses that people who harm themselves are often deeply upset with themselves, and chiding and scolding them would only make it worse. The best thing they could all do for Maisie was be kind, sympathetic and understanding. Take her hand from between her teeth gently, tell her what a poor thing she is, hug her and give her a biscuit. Tell her they understood and weren't angry. All the children were allowed to see their parents, and Maisie's mother and father often visited her, bringing her soft toys and sweets. No one took any of the things away from her, or any of the children. This was a hospital where everyone was truly cared for. And now Maisie had the chance to actually meet the two kind, caring gentlemen who had made it all happen, created this amazing place and filled it with hope. Mr Ustad had, after Maisie had agreed to undergo the procedure, telephoned her father and asked him to come and sign a waiver allowing for the operation to go ahead. Mr Wright drove out to the hospital that instant and signed the form, tenderly kissing the pretty side of Maisie's face through tears and promising her she'd 'be so pretty' when he saw her again. She cried too, and smiled, and then Daddy went home and Mr Ustad took Maisie up to the very top floor to the office of Messrs Estensen. The office was cosy and luxurious, wood-panelled and furnished with a large mahogany desk and comfortable leather-upholstered chairs, quite like Daddy's study really. The identical twin brothers, both bald despite obviously not being particularly old, one spectacled, one not, both wearing grey suits and navy blue ties, sat in armchairs smiling and offered Maisie and Mr Ustad chairs. Maisie was sitting in a chair next to Mr Ustad, smiling back at the brothers.

"Now, Maisie," smiled Mr Estensen On The Left. "Perhaps you could explain to us how you developed such unusual disfigurements. It's very strange for a person to have a perfectly straight line down the body, dividing the deformed side from the perfect."

"Please don't feel pressured to answer," said Mr Estensen On The Right. "We understand that your condition is quite upsetting."

Maisie smiled. "It's all right," she said bravely. "I can talk about it."

Mr Estensen On The Right nodded. "Please go on."

"It was the war," said Maisie. "I was only a baby."

"How old are you now, Maisie?" asked Estensen-Left.

"Eleven, sir," she told him. "I was born right at the beginning of the war. Don't even remember most of it. But I remember when I got burned. I was supposed to get evacuated, but I was at the train station with Nanny and I got upset. I..." Maisie blushed. "I wet myself. Nanny had to take me into the toilet and change my clothes. We missed the train and Nanny took me home. We said we'd get the train tomorrow, but then on the night the house got bombed."

"Where were you, Maisie?" asked Estensen-Right. "When you heard the air-raid siren?"

"I was sitting under the table," said Maisie. "Playing. I heard all the panic, and Mummy looking for me. Then the bomb fell. It never hit us. It hit the road outside, but the whole house shook. The table fell on me, landed half-on me, like a line down my middle, and Mummy had made soup for six."

Estensen-Left nodded. "The soup was piping-hot and poured all over the exposed side of your body," he concluded.

"The table prevented it getting to your right side," added Estensen-Right. There was an odd synchronicity about them, as if they were some sort of double-act. "I see. Severe scalding, matched with the fact that there was a crisis and there wasn't time to get you immediately to a hospital..."

"Yes," agreed Estensen-Left. "I see how it happened. Mr Ustad, do you think you can successfully carry out the necessary procedure?"

Ustad, who had been hitherto silent, observing the discussion, nodded. "Certainly, sirs," he'd purred smoothly. "I'm confident that I can make an enormous difference to at least one side of this young lady's life. A few grafts and her sinister side can be as aesthetically charming as her dexter."

"And you have a signature of consent from her father?" asked Estensen-Right.

"Of course," said Ustad.

"Then begin at once," said Estensen-Left. "Let's have this young lady's smile shining by tomorrow."

Then Mr Ustad had stood up and led the dressing-gowned young girl back down the stairs, this time all the way down, to the converted basement, once an enormous wine cellar, that had become the Operating Theatre and Appended Departments. As she had descended the stairs, Maisie had been glowing and tingling from head to toe. Everything was about to change. At last she would be beautiful.

Leela turned away from the window of the car and looked at the Doctor, who sat beside her on the back seat. Beyond him sat Constable Marsh, who had dozed off to sleep. Still cautious, however, Leela kept her voice a whisper. "How did you know about the body?" she asked.

Equally quietly, and doing his best not to move his lips much, the Doctor told her, "I overheard that policeman on the telephone." He nodded toward Gideon.

"Telephone?"

"It doesn't matter. I heard him talking to someone about the body and I decided to investigate."

"Do you think there will be an invasion?"

"I don't know. Initially the body just sounded interesting, but now that I've seen it I can't help thinking something's very wrong here."

Leela was puzzled. "How can you tell?"

The Doctor lowered his voice further still, making it a whisper. "You were right about the head, hands and feet sliced off with a single chop," he told her. "But wrong about a large blade being used. The edges where the appendages were severed were slightly cauterised."

"What is cauterised?"

"It's when animal tissue damage self-seals because it was burnt. Like a wound closing because of the skin around it being melted."

Leela was none the wiser. "What does it mean?"

"It means those body parts were chopped off with a laser beam," said the Doctor. "A laser beam of remarkable power and precision, nothing the like of which could exist on this planet at this time."

Leela was silent, pondering the thought.

"We're here," called Hobbs from the front passenger seat. "Wake that twit up!" And as the car stopped he opened the door and got out onto the gravel drive.

The Doctor nudged Marsh. "Come on, Constable!" he said. "Look lively!"

Marsh groggily opened his door and stepped out. He straightened his uniform jacket and smiled sheepishly at Chief Inspector Gideon. "Sorry, sir," he said pathetically.

Gideon sighed. "We'll worry about it later," he said decisively. "Let's get moving." And he walked through the gates toward the large house.

"Impressive," observed the Doctor. "Almost a stately home. This Estensen chap must be quite wealthy."

"There are two Estensens," said Hobbs. "Brothers, and they are quite wealthy, yes. They've invested money in Azerbaijani oil and Japanese electro-whatever... I dunno... anyway, they can easily afford a place like this."

Gideon nodded as they all made for the main entrance doors. "But they came in from Denmark and bought the place at lightning speed, and less than a month later it was a hospital advertising life-changing surgery."

"Life-changing in what way?" asked the Doctor.

"The Estensens call it 'cosmetic' surgery," said Gideon. "Don't know the ins and outs of it myself, but from what I can gather the procedure corrects deformities in some way, all but fixes physical ugliness."

The Doctor quickened his pace. "I've heard of cosmetic surgery," he said. "Have you ever seen the results?"

"Two girls came out of this hospital last year," said Hobbs. "When they went in they had severe burns all over their faces, when they came out you'd never have known it was the same girls. They looked exactly like photographs taken before their accidents."

The Doctor started running for the doors.

Leela rushed to catch up with him. "What is it, Doctor?" she shouted. "What is wrong?"

"Cosmetic surgery procedures that advanced aren't available anywhere in the world in 1950," the Doctor answered as he reached the doors and barged through. "Someone in this building has access to higher technology and must be stopped." He stepped, almost fell, into the reception area. There was a long curved service desk with no one behind it, mounted with a small bell of the kind one might find on the reservations desk of a hotel. Opposite the desk stood an ornate wooden staircase. Leela went to investigate the stairs while the Doctor rang the bell. No one answered.

Gideon and his fellow officers filed through the doorway. "What's happening?"

"Nothing," said the Doctor. "It's deserted."

"Doctor?" called Leela nervously.

The Doctor looked over to his companion, who crouched at the foot of the stairs in a fighting stance, tensed to engage an enemy. "What's the matter?" he asked. She didn't answer and he joined her at the foot of the stairs, following her eyeline.

A little girl, perhaps ten or eleven years old, with long flame-red curls stood on the fifth step. She wore an Alice In Wonderland style dress and a large, cheerful blue ribbon, tied in a bow in her hair. She was offering a hand, as if her intention were to greet the visitors and shake hands with them, though the Doctor could see instantly that this was not the case. "Hello," he said quietly to the child, his voice calm and soothing. "I'm the Doctor. What's your name?"

The child didn't answer. Instead she smiled, and her smile dripped with evil.

"Beware of her, Doctor," Leela warned as he placed his foot on the first step.

"Oh, come on!" scoffed Hobbs. "She's just a kid!"

The Doctor kept his eyes fixed on the child. "She's rather more than that, I'm afraid, Sergeant," he said, looking up at the girl. "But not quite an Auton, eh?"

The girl giggled and the fingers on her extended left hand dropped away on an invisible hinge.

_**To be continued...**_


	2. Episode 2

**Episode II: **_**Surgery**_

The kid's still smiling. She's looking at the Doctor and holding her hand out, if you can call it a hand. The fingers are on some sort of hidden hinge, and I don't know how but the hand has got to be artificial. There's a sort of an aperture set into the blunt end of the split-open hand and the kid is sort of pointing it at the Doctor. I can't think of a reason why I should find that threatening, but I do. In fact, it scares the life out of me.

George Gideon stepped back carefully, wondering if he was right to do what he was about to do. He really didn't care for firearms at all, but sometimes they were a necessary evil, especially when dealing with what he would call an unnecessary one. He sidestepped carefully to stand behind the Doctor, reaching into his jacket for the revolver he'd especially asked for when he'd ducked into the police station on the way to this house. The brutal nature of that murder and the talk of a potential Russian infiltration had shaken him a little. _Did he really want to shoot a child?_ The gun was out now. He had to use it before someone noticed he'd produced it and took action of a kind that may severely compromise his position. Taking care to remain partially obscured by the Doctor, Gideon aimed the pistol at the young girl's head.

The child is strange. She is not a normal child. There is something wrong. I feel as if she is somehow not complete, like something was taken away from her and then replaced with something that does not fit properly. Her hand is open, and open again, and inside it I sense death. The child holds death in her hand, and could unleash it at any moment on one of us. She looks at the Doctor. She will unleash death upon him if she is not stopped. But I am unarmed. There are no weapons here. There are no means of defence. The Doctor is in danger.

Leela held her tensed position, carefully but discreetly shifting her eyes all around the girl's body, glancing at the bright bow in her hair, at her wickedly-smiling face with one cold eye, at her hands – one normal and the other holding death itself, at her dress, at her legs and feet. The legs. They were her weakest point. The hellchild stood on a step, with one step behind and above her feet, one step in front and below. To strike at the right moment would be to knock her off balance. Leela fixed her eyes on the child's ankles.

"Estensen," the Doctor said to the girl, seeming unfazed by the presentation of her weapon, the integrated flash dispersal unit that was common in Autons. "I really should've guessed it, shouldn't I? I must be getting old. E-S-T-E-N-S-E-N – an anagram of Nestenes, of course." He grinned up at the girl, still making a pretence of sociable chatter. "And where are the current sources of your conscious disposition? Aren't they going to pop out and say hello, offer the tentacle of hospitality to their guests?"

"The Nestene Consciousness isn't my consciousness," said the little girl, somewhat matter-of-factly, still wearing that sinister smile. "It simply animates my more advanced side. I have my own mind and make my own way."

"Do you?" the Doctor replied darkly. "I wonder."

"You interest us, Doctor," said the girl. "We would like you to stay."

The Doctor was suddenly rather intrigued. "Really? And what's so fascinating about me that your squiddy chums want me to hang around for tea and a cosy chat?"

The girl almost simpered, but there was nothing in it at all of the sweetness any normal human being might usually expect from a little girl. "The Consciousness knows you, Doctor. You have denied it before. You will not deny it again."

"Now, that's very interesting," said the Doctor. "Because you see, this is 1950, and I won't 'deny' the Nestene Consciousness anything until 1970, so it would appear that you at least are privy to some knowledge of the future."

That put the girl on her guard. Her eyes narrowed almost to slits and her smile became a hard, angry frown, as if the girl had misbehaved, been denied sweets because of it and thought herself hard done by. "You are too serious a threat to be allowed to impede us further, Doctor." And she stretched out her arm.

A loud bang sounded from behind the Doctor and he ducked instinctively as the bullet whizzed past him and blasted a chunk out of the wall in front of the girl's face. At the same moment, Leela dived forward and tackled the child's legs. As she crashed onto her back, the child instinctively fired her weapon, unsure of whether she had hit anything.

"Pin her down!" the Doctor shouted, pulling a skipping rope from one of his voluminous pockets as Leela, Gideon and Hobbs pressed themselves against the struggling, wriggling girl. "And keep clear of that hand. It's deadly." He hopped onto the stairs proper and reached in, helping the others to push the girl's chest to the wall and pull her hands, carefully watching to avoid the gun, behind her back. From another pocket the Doctor produced his sonic screwdriver, which he pressed against the wrist of the girl's weapon hand and activated. He held it for a moment. "She's harmless now," he said, switching it off. "But not for long. That will repair itself." He started tying her hands together.

Satisfied that matters were in hand, Hobbs stepped down to look at Constable Marsh. He looked down sadly and in quite some shock at the body. "What kind of weapon can do that to a man?" he breathed.

The Doctor was suddenly at his side. "A particularly horrendous one," he pontificated. "And one that tells me we have much more than a bunch of plastic psychopaths and a couple of squid to worry about. I'm going to find out what's going on here, and before I allow any of you to help me any further, I'm going to have to warn you that this..." he pointed down at the remains of Constable Marsh. "...is nothing compared to what the occupants of this building have in store for the human race, and you will all be putting yourselves in greater danger than you've ever faced before."

Gideon was standing behind him, helping Leela to support the bound girl. "Just be honest with us, Doctor," he said. "Nothing would shock me now, so tell us the nature of the danger we're facing and we'll face it."

"It's alien," said the Doctor.

"Russian invaders?" asked Hobbs.

"Extra-terrestrial invaders, Sergeant," the Doctor clarified. "This hospital is operating under the control of beings from space."

Hobbs was awestruck. "But that's crazy," he gasped. "Little green men from Mars?"

"No," the Doctor said, his voice taking on a much harder and more serious inflection. "Large pinkish squid from much, much further away than any planet you've ever heard of, and something else. Something far more terrible. Something unspeakable." And he dashed behind the reception counter and opened the door to the office beyond. "Bring the girl in here," he said. "Sit her in one of these chairs and make sure she gets food and drink if she needs it."

Gideon was puzzled. "She's not an alien invader?"

"She's almost as human as you," the Doctor told him. "Almost. Half of her body has been modified with plastic."

"With what?" asked Hobbs.

"It's a little like Bakelite," Gideon explained. "Yank invention."

"Actually, no," the Doctor corrected him. "The first synthetic polymer plastic material was celluloid, and that was developed in 1855 by a man from Birmingham – England, not Alabama. Alexander Parkes. Since then, plastics have been developed in various forms and so far Bakelite is simply the most commonly used. But this plastic is much more advanced and complex, and the aliens here are using the promise of cosmetically-enhanced beauty as an excuse to graft it onto human beings. It's then animated by the Nestene Consciousness, a totally primal entity that manifests as a cephalopod and possesses certain limited powers of telekinesis."

"Telekiwhat?" asked Hobbs.

"It can move and manipulate objects using the power of its mind," the Doctor said. "But only if those objects are made of plastic. Any plastic will do, which means if you're carrying any Bakelite, vinyl or cellophane, you should throw it away now."

"We aren't," said Gideon. "Not standard issue." He shuffled forward, dragging the girl with the aid of Leela. The girl had stopped speaking the moment she was overpowered. Leela doubted that it was anything to do with he being knocked down or the Doctor's magic. It was far more likely that the leader of her tribe had ordered her to remain silent if she was captured. They dragged her through the door and hauled her into a chair, carefully positioning her so that she would be sitting on her dangerous hand and therefore unable to use it.

The Doctor looked at Hobbs. "Do you have a gun?"

Hobbs nodded. "Inspector Gideon asked me to carry one."

"Keep her under guard," the Doctor told him sternly. "And I warn you, Sergeant, that she may try and threaten your life, and if you want to survive in the case that she does, you may have no other choice but to shoot her."

"I-I don't think I could shoot a little girl, sir," stammered Hobbs.

"Then give your gun to Leela," said the Doctor. "And you can come with me and meet the Nestenes."

The two Auton avatars of the brothers Estensen sat in their chairs, staring into the television screen situated on their desk. The closed-circuit television cameras had been trained on reception, watching the situation. The intruders had come in and the Grade Four had challenged them, but they had overpowered it and had now entered the hospital proper.

"The Grade Four is now the intruders' prisoner," said the brother on the left.

"And one of them guards it," said the one on the right.

"The other intruders are entering the wards."

"Our other defences will have to be used. These intruders may threaten the plan."

"Confirmed. What of the Grade Four?"

"It can protect itself."

"It is a valuable specimen. It should not be allowed to waste valuable operational time."

"Suggestion?"

"It should be retrieved."

"Send an Auton."

"Confirmed. Can the intruders' weapons damage an Auton?"

"Not significantly."

"Can the intruders' weapons damage the Grade Four?"

"The Doctor possesses an advanced device that can deactivate the weapon implants. The other weapons are primitive. However, the Grade Four is not an Auton. It is largely organic, and organic matter can be severely damaged by exposure to this type of primitive projectile weapon."

"An Auton has been despatched. Which defences should we use to protect the wards?"

"Activate the Grade Two specimens. They have not yet been tested, but there is no time."

"Confirmed."

The brother on the right reached out and pressed a button on the television, changing the channel to show a picture of the entrance to the first floor wards. The Doctor and the two men were coming up the stairs, moving with stealth and caution, unaware that they were being monitored. The camera eye followed them as they pushed open the swing doors and stepped into Ward 1A. It was a women's ward. Some of the patients were getting out of bed.

There was a knock at the door of the office.

"You may enter," both the Estensens said at once.

The door opened and Mr Ustad stepped in. "I've just had a report of gunfire in reception," he announced. "We have trespassers."

"We are aware of the fact," said the Left-hand Mr Estensen.

"Join us," said the Right-hand Mr Estensen. "Observe."

Ustad moved around the desk to look at the television cameras. Some of the women he had subjected to minor Auton plastic modification were out of bed and converging on three male intruders in Ward 1A. The women's hands had opened and their weapons had been revealed. Mr Ustad became instantly concerned. "They must not be harmed," he snapped.

"We disagree," said Estensen-Left.

"They are a threat to the plan," said Estensen-Right.

"They are _not_ to be harmed!" growled Ustad. "Remember that I am the only person keeping you alive and as such you need my assistance, and I can become a very unwilling ally when my requests are not treated with proper consideration."

Estensen-Left looked up at Ustad. "You will accept responsibility for the security of the plan," he instructed. "If these intruders are allowed to live, it will be your duty to ensure that they do not cause disruption. If you fail, we will disperse them. If you protest, we will disperse you."

Ustad nodded. "I understand. I'll go and deal with them immediately. Deactivate those Grade Two subjects and call the nurses to Ward 1A."

Suddenly the semi-Auton women stopped attacking. Their weapon hands closed up and they all started backing slowly away. Gideon and Hobbs didn't know what to make of it, and even the Doctor seemed a little surprised. Hobbs watched them all carefully, wondering if they would change their minds again. If there was one thing women were good at (as well as notorious for), it was changing their minds at the drop of a hat. But they all seemed to mill around for a moment and then turned away from the Doctor and his group as if disinterested.

"Back to bed, all of you!" a Welshwoman shouted sternly. "Whatever must our visitors think of you, making all this fuss over them?" The women slowly lumbered back to their beds, sitting down and then lying down and pulling the blankets back up over them. The Welshwoman, a short, plump lady with a round, cheerful face, brown hair and large dark blue half-moon eyes, wearing a nurse's uniform, trotted up to the Doctor. "Staff Nurse Bennett, sir," she smiled. "You one of the new doctors, then?"

The Doctor smiled. "Well, yes, exactly," he said delightedly. "My colleagues and I are here at the request of..."

"Mr Ustad, I know," Staff Nurse Bennett cut him off with a cheery nod. "Well, if you'd like to come this way, sirs, I'll show you to his office."

As they walked to the office behind the Staff Nurse, the Doctor glanced at Gideon. "Mr Ustad, eh," he said quietly. "Sounds Azerbaijani."

"Azerwhat?" asked Hobbs from behind them.

"It doesn't matter," the Doctor answered. "What matters is that my suspicions have been confirmed, and the entire human race is in very serious danger."

"How serious?" whispered Gideon.

"Serious enough to equal global extinction before 1960," said the Doctor.

The rest of the journey was conducted in silence.

Maisie Wright sat in the armchair in the corner of the spacious reception staff room, still smiling as if somehow insane or otherwise injected with 'happy drugs' or something. Her weapon hand was now in her lap, rendered somewhat inoperable by the Doctor for a second time. He had used his sonic screwdriver to neutralise the weapon's capacity to actually discharge, but he had known that the protection afforded his team by that act would not last long. A large roll of masking tape had been the solution, wound around the wrist and hand to the fingertips in thick multiple layers, stuck fast so that the simple spring mechanism behind the fingers simply didn't have sufficient pressure to shift it. The girl looked up at Leela, at the gun that the savage pointed at her head. "Would you kill a child, I wonder?" she asked with the kind of cheerful casualty that one might use to ask if a person might be willing to listen to the radio in the evenings. "Women are more sensitive in that way than men, you know. Maternal instincts can be strong, even if you don't have any children yourself. They should've left a man here guarding me. A man might've fired."

"I will fire," Leela told the girl with flat, clear sincerity. "You are a hellchild. I feel nothing for you."

Maisie frowned in puzzlement. "Now, that's just a little bit strange," she observed. "Don't you think I'm pretty, want to play skipping rope, read me a bedtime story, give me sweets?

"I do not understand those words," said Leela. "Would doing any of those things mean I would have to put down my gun?"

Maisie was smiling again. "I love a girl who knows her priorities."

Leela reached behind her to the chair that the Doctor had arranged opposite Maisie's in case Leela got tired standing. She could only feel the arm of the chair, and so she perched herself on that, not taking her eyes from Maisie for one second, the gun trained. "Why do you do this?" she asked the child. "Why do you hide in this house, killing those who dare to enter? Is this a sacred temple?"

"I've only killed one person so far," said Maisie, glancing at the body of Constable Marsh in the remaining chair. Gideon had refused to leave it lying in the reception area outside. "And I didn't really mean to do that, I must admit. My target was the Doctor."

"You know him," Leela remembered. "You said he was a threat."

"The Nestenes know him, yes," said Maisie.

"Nestenes?"

"They are the source of my power. They are the Hosts of the Consciousness. They have come to this world to devour it. There are so many materials in this world that are suitable for absorption. The Nestenes will consume them."

"Where are these Nestenes?"

"In the Directors' office upstairs. You'll never get to meet them."

Leela heard a ripping sound. Quickly she glanced at Maisie's hand. The tape was snapping. She leapt to her feet and levelled the gun. The hand sprung open. "Close it," Leela snapped. "Or I will kill you."

"Can you fire quickly enough to prevent me killing you?" asked Maisie meaningfully.

"I do not know. But perhaps I will be fast enough to kill you before I die," said Leela.

"Can you be sure? And what if you miss and I kill you? Then I'll be free to hunt the Doctor."

"If I do not at least try, you could kill me and still be free."

"It's a dilemma, isn't it?" smiled the girl. "What to do. Do you fight and die, or do you surrender and die? You die either way. Humpty Dumpty sat on the wall; Humpty Dumpty had a great fall. All the King's horses and all the King's m..."

Leela fired.

Maisie held up her arm, screaming in horror at the shattered remains of her hand. The shock of its destruction had shaken her free of the Nestenes' hold. Leela kept the gun on her, moving in closer, not trusting the hellchild an inch. Leela could see that the girl did not bleed even though she had lost a hand. That was not normal. That was the work of demons. But the child did seem vulnerable and frightened. There was no more smiling, no more taunting. Somehow she had changed. "Do not be afraid," Leela said quietly. "There is no death for you."

"H-help me..." stammered the girl, shaking. "Please... the Nestenes... and him... the man... they control me. They give me orders. I don't want to obey, but I can't help it."

Leela knelt beside the chair, the gun still firmly targeted, this time fixed for certain right between Maisie's eyes. "Who is the man?" asked Leela. "Why does he help the Nestenes? Why does he help them to make you this way?"

Suddenly the room was briefly lit by a flash, which was accompanied by a kind of whooshing sound, and the pistol flew from Leela's hand, landing with a thud on the carpet. Leela whirled round and found herself facing something that made her blood run cold. She dived for the gun, but when she found it she found it was useless, an amorphous lump of metal ruined by the blast that had stripped it from her hand.

Maisie stood up. "Release me," she ordered. "Keep your weapon trained on her."

Leela froze as the thing walked past her. It was standing right beside where she lay on the carpet and she could hear it fumbling with Maisie's ropes. The skipping rope fell on Leela's back. She didn't move, didn't even try to brush it away. She just held her place, flat on the floor, wondering where the Doctor was, if he was safe, and if she would ever be able to find out the answers to those questions.

The Doctor opened the office door. "Mr Ustad?" he called. Then he stepped into the office, Gideon and Hobbs filing in behind him. There was no one in there. The door was suddenly slammed shut behind them and they all clearly heard the clicking of the key in the lock.

"Oh great!" exclaimed Hobbs. "Tricked into here so we can be locked up and they can send their alien nasties in to polish us off!"

The Doctor shook his head. "I doubt it's as simple as that, Sergeant," he said. "Staff Nurse Bennett is an Auton. She could've killed us at any time if those were her orders. The person giving those orders wants us here, in this office." He started to look around, pulling a small wooden hammer that looked as though he might've pinched it from a Judge's bar and banging on the furniture with it. He banged on the desk, on the chair, on the small bookcases and on the filing cabinet.

Gideon stepped forward. "How did you know that nurse was an Auton?" he asked. "Her hand-thing wasn't out."

"It didn't have to be," the Doctor explained as he banged his hammer on a small safe. "It was rather obvious that her body was made of plastic and not flesh and blood. I have something of an eye for these things." There was a large grey metal security cupboard in the corner and the Doctor banged on that with his hammer. "Ah!"

"What have you found?" asked Gideon.

"The centre of all this," said the Doctor. "Mr Ustad's real office." He put away the hammer and produced his sonic screwdriver, fiddling with it for a moment and then pointing it at the cabinet. It made a shrill noise that went right through Sergeant Hobbs's teeth. The Doctor panned the screwdriver away from the cabinet and it went quiet, and then he panned it back again and the sound returned. To Hobbs's relief, the Doctor then turned the screwdriver off and put it away. He banged on the door of the cabinet loudly and cleared his throat. "Ahem. Come on then," he called loudly. "Let's get it over with."

"What's all that about?" asked Hobbs in puzzlement. "Don't tell me the aliens are inside that little cupboard."

The door of the cabinet suddenly swung open. "I'm afraid so," the Doctor said. "And we're going inside it too."

"We'll never all fit in that," protested Hobbs. "You'll barely get in there!"

The Doctor stepped back. "After you then, Sergeant."

Hobbs glanced at Gideon, who shrugged, and then approached the door. "Hello?" He called. "We, uhm, come in peace." And he stepped into the darkness. "Bloody hell!" he exclaimed.

"Be very careful," the Doctor said as he followed Hobbs with Gideon in tow into the spacious, dimly-lit room. The black walls were set with circular indentations from which emanated amber light, casting eerie shadows around the strange space. In the centre of the room there stood what Gideon could only describe as a kind of mechanical mushroom, gaunt and angular and mounted with small television screens and various buttons and switches. He couldn't begin to imagine what any of this gubbins was for. "What the devil is it?" he asked quietly.

"It's an alien spaceship," the Doctor said. "Very similar in a lot of ways to my police box."

"But considerably superior," said a new voice.

The Doctor turned to face the figure in the doorway. He wasn't particularly tall, and he was a little hunched. His misshapen body was stuffed awkwardly into a white suit and his hands were gloved. In one hand he held a small black tube, which he pointed at the Doctor. The worst thing about the newcomer was his face, a charred, blistered skeletal parody of features that once may have resembled something human, or at least Gallifreyan. "Don't move," the Doctor said quietly to his friends. "If you do, you'll both end up three inches tall and dead, just like Constable Marsh."

"Very wise, Doctor," said the custodian of the cupboard-shaped ship. "As you know, in here my rule is law."

"Rather a harsh policy," the Doctor said. "But then hospitality never was your middle name, and speaking of names – you've been particularly discreet with this latest pseudonym. There are so few people in the West who speak Azerbaijani these days."

Gideon glanced at the disfigured creature and then at the Doctor. "Do you know this person?"

The Doctor nodded. "I'm afraid so. His name, his real name, won't mean anything to you, but..."

"But all you need to know," said the emaciated thing, "is that I am the Master."

Another flash, another whoosh and another chunk of the wall exploded close enough to blast fragments of plaster dust and masonry across Leela's face, the heat within a sufficient radius of radiance to slightly singe the tips of her hair. Still she ran. She ducked behind the banister, clawing practically on her hands and knees for the steps ahead. The Auton weapons rang out again and the corner pillar of the banister rail burst into flames. Leela struggled, gasping for breath, winded and suffering from stitch, to the first floor landing and charged the doors, practically falling through them into the ward. Every inch of distance gained afforded her time, and so she knew she couldn't stop moving. Besides, the hellchild and its servant would be following her up the stairs at any moment. She felt a little relieved that the ward, excluding its beds, all occupied by sleeping patients, was empty, and she dashed toward the doors at the far end.

Something clicked. Leela froze. There was a kind of buzz and she looked around warily. Then she carried on running. The bedclothes were being whisked away from the beds and women in nightgowns were sitting up and then standing, their fingers slipping away in yield to the deadly weapons carried by the hellchild and her friend. The zombie-like women turned as one in Leela's direction and began to plod somnolently toward her, eyes staring into empty space, weapon arms twitching as they slowly stabilised. Leela guessed that they hadn't properly woken up yet and that there was a chance their weapons might not be ready to fire for a few moments. Summoning up the last of her energy reserves, she flung herself through the next pair of doors and stumbled toward the staircase leading to the second floor.

The doors to the ward burst open and Maisie stepped in, her weapon hand very much in working order again, wide open and ready to dispense death, accompanied by another figure, this one a tall, stocky and utterly featureless form. It was seven feet tall, shaped like a man, wearing only overalls and boots. It had no face at all, just a blank facade in white plastic, its only distinguishing feature the weapon in its split-open left hand. Maisie glanced around the room at the milling figures of partially reconditioned women shuffling toward the doors at the other end and screwed up her eyes to see if she could see Leela in their midst. Finally she made a decision. "Leave her to the Grade Sevens," she told her Auton bodyguard. "If they can't deal with her, they'll still drive her toward the top of the building, and she won't last five minutes there."

"Have I any further duties?" asked the Auton. Its voice was a harsh rasping crackle, as if it were a radio transmission plagued with static and boosted to top volume.

"We will awaken the Consciousness," said Maisie. "The plan is to be advanced by the orders of our Master."

"The army is incomplete," protested the Auton. "As is the modification process. The plan may be unsuccessful if executed at this early stage."

Maisie shook her head. "No one is expecting this attack," she told the Auton. "Surprise is our friend. By the time anyone realises there is sufficient danger to warrant the assembly of a defence, we will already have the strategic advantage." And she walked down the centre aisle of the ward, the Auton lumbering obediently behind her.

"It wasn't just the name that gave you away, you know," said the Doctor casually, leaning against the console of the Master's TARDIS, the heels of his palms pressed on the edge, propping him up. "You do leave rather obvious clues most of the time. You really ought to be more inventive."

His ego offended by the Doctor's remark, the Master sneered. "I think you will find my current enterprise sufficiently inventive, Doctor," he retorted. "I've been thinking of trying another gambit with the Nestene Consciousness for some time now, ever since you ruined my last attempt in fact, and I do believe I have the formula just right."

The Doctor stared darkly into the twisted face of his old enemy. "Modifying Auton weapons into Tissue Compression Eliminators?" he surmised. "Adapting Nestene-animated Auton plastic into old men, women and children under the misleading promise that the 'cosmetic enhancement' will make them beautiful and change their lives? That's not inventive; it's obscene."

The Master gave a rough chuckle. "I'm so glad you think so, Doctor. The differences in our opinion have always been of singular significance to me."

"I had a feeling that this would just be another avenue of your infantile vendetta," the Doctor said casually, jutting out his bottom lip. "You know, you really can be terribly boring sometimes." He made a show of yawning rather over-dramatically.

The Master charged him, pushing him backwards, grabbing his lapel with one hand and jamming the TCE in the other hand into the Doctor's temple. "Do not antagonise me, Doctor," he hissed. "In your present position it would not be a prudent action."

"You don't think so?" asked the Doctor.

The Master was about to respond when he felt the barrel of a primitive (but sufficiently life-threatening) human-made projectile weapon pressing into the back of his deformed skull. A voice behind him said, "I don't know what you are, or what that thing is in your hand, but you can drop it, now."

"Explain to him about the State of Temporal Grace, Doctor," the Master rasped confidently.

"You mean the circuitry that prevents any weaponry from being used inside a TARDIS and would render Inspector Gideon's gun completely useless in here?" the Doctor asked. "The circuitry you must've switched off so that you could use your own gun? Even humans aren't that stupid."

The Master gritted his teeth in anger. "If he does not step back, Doctor, I will kill you."

The Doctor was quiet and firm. "I doubt it. You could never kill me just to protect yourself. You'd need to enjoy it. Besides, what makes you think after you've killed me that the Inspector wouldn't shoot you dead anyway?"

The Master threw his TCE angrily across the floor.

"Hobbs," Gideon said. "Get that little toy, will you?"

"Sir," Hobbs replied and went to fetch it.

Gideon kept the nose of his gun pressed against the Master's skull. "Now step back slowly and don't try any tricks." Carefully he began to lead the Master back. "Handcuffs when you're ready, Hobbs."

"You won't escape, Doctor," growled the Master. "The Autons will destroy you, and then they will destroy your precious human species."

"You're under arrest," Gideon told the Master as he handcuffed him. "I've frankly no idea what for at the moment, but there must be a law against at least something you've been up to, and as soon as it's clarified I'll have you. You mark my words."

The Doctor turned around and looked over the console. There was nothing useful on the panel immediately in front of him and so he walked around it, examining the others. Eventually he found what he wanted – the line supplying power to the advanced surgical devices the Master would have brought with him to use in this venture. Putting the plastic into plastic surgery. The irony would have been slightly entertaining had it not been so disgusting. He cut the power. He knew that wasn't the end of it; that he'd have to go to the basement later and dismantle the equipment, take it back to the time and place it was stolen from and return it to its proper owners. But he could worry about that later.

Leela made it to the top of the stairs, despite the best efforts of women and children, and more recently elderly men with those weapons built into them. The lower half of the building was in flames now, the fire started by Maisie's pot shots at Leela downstairs having spread, and the first floor wards had almost succumbed. Some of the semi-plastic soldiers had been caught in the blaze, their arms and hands turning black and melting into oily mush as they collapsed. More shots were being pulled off all the time, and more small fires were breaking out. As Leela stepped onto the landing she found herself in a short corridor with a door at its end. She was trapped. Finding no other option, she ran for the door and burst through it.

Both Estensen brothers stood up as the woman burst into their office. Their hands flicked open and their Auton weapons charged. Mr Estensen-on-the-Left stepped around the left side of the desk as his counterpart moved around the right side. "Stop at once," he ordered as Leela dodged clear of the advancing pair and ran to the window behind them.

Both Estensens turned around to follow her. "You are disrupting the programme," insisted Mr Estensen-on-the-Right. The woman wasn't listening, and so he fired. The window smashed. Leela dived clear of the shower of glass shards, throwing herself to the floor. The Estensens advanced on her.

Hobbs ripped the fire extinguisher urgently from the wall. The whole passage ahead was in flames. He fired a couple of blasts from the extinguisher, hoping it would see him and his party through to the nearest fire escape. Some of the flames dissipated, but it wasn't helping much. "I don't think we're gonna make it, sir," he told Gideon sadly. "We'll roast alive."

Gideon scowled at the hideous little misanthrope in his grip. "This is all your fault," he snapped. "If we do get out of this, I'll make you wish you... ARGH!" he cried out as the Master kicked him in the shin and broke free of him. He went for his revolver.

"Leave him!" shouted the Doctor. "We have far more important things to worry about."

The Master had run back into the office of Mr Ustad and the door had slammed. The office and the fiery corridor outside resounded with the harsh grating and trumpeting sound that heralded the departure of his TARDIS. Gideon looked at the Doctor. "Well, what do we do now?"

The Doctor looked around at the doors nearest them. "That sluice room," he said, pointing to an open door. "Come on!" and he dived through the door. Inside the sluice room he crouched under the sink and produced his sonic screwdriver, aiming it at the water pipes. "Prepare to get a little wet, gentlemen," he said.

"It's better than frying," said Hobbs.

The pipes burst.

A loud crash distracted the brothers Estensen and they turned to see an army of semi-Autons charging into the office, firing their weapons wildly, trying to hit Leela. A flash from one of the weapons caught Mr Estensen-on-the-right and he collapsed onto his knees. Mr Estensen-on-the-Left gave retaliating fire for his own protection. Amidst the melee, Leela managed to duck out of the window onto the fire escape.

The two Nestene creatures had awoken, but they hadn't begun sending signals to their swarm quite yet. There was a bit of a panic on, and as strongly telepathic creatures they'd become instantly aware of it. The building around them was going up in flames, and they were trapped in the concealed compartment behind the upstairs office, about to be boiled alive in their suspension tanks. This was not the outcome that they had expected.

Maisie was frightened and upset. The Master's voice was no longer in her head and she couldn't remember what she had been doing for the past couple of days. She couldn't remember how she'd ended up in the dress, or how the house had caught fire, or what that horrible giant thing was that had scared her away and then caught fire and started to melt as though it were wax or something. She had snatched the fire extinguisher from the melting giant and used it to escape through the flames as the horrid thing died, and on the way out of the building she had stumbled through a mess of human carcasses and nurses that should have been human carcasses but were instead molten lumps like the giant had become. Her face streaked with tears, she burst out onto the front steps of the building and ran down the drive and finally sat just inside the gate in her burnt and tattered dress, weeping.

"Hello," a voice said kindly.

Maisie looked up. The man was tall and had a kind face and a broad grin. He wore a huge coat and scarf and a floppy hat, all of which, along with their wearer, were dripping wet. Despite her confusion and fear, she couldn't help giggling. "That's that crazy kid that almost killed us," said another equally sodden man behind the first. "Get away from her – she's dangerous."

"I don't think so, Sergeant," said the Doctor. "She's no longer under the Master's influence, are you?"

Maisie shook her head. "Was I bad?" she asked.

The Doctor crouched beside her. "Not in yourself, no," he smiled, and he reached into a pocket and produced a surprisingly dry paper bag. "Would you like a jelly baby?"

Smiling, Maisie took a sweet from the bag and popped it into her mouth.

**Epilogue**

FOR THE ATTENTION OF BRIGADIER A G LETHBRIDGE-STEWART:

Dear Alistair,

Sorry about having to dump this girl on you, old chap, but I need someone to look after this young lady and I'm afraid there simply aren't the facilities both to do that and protect the human race in the 1950s, and so I've brought her forward because UNIT has those facilities and can make good use of them. I haven't time to write a document to cover her history in detail, but she's been another unfortunate victim of the Master. I can't just leave her milling around amongst unprotected humans because she's been modified with Auton prostheses. There's no Nestene to support her Auton parts, but they take up almost half her body and so I've had to give her an integrated support system for them. Sadly I wasn't able to circumnavigate the problem of permanently deactivating her weapon, and so I'm concerned that if she's ever frightened or forced to defend herself she may decide that her in-built advantage is rather too useful.

Under the circumstances, given that she's only a child and out of her time, I understand that the issue of caring for her can be sensitive, and so I've acquired the support of another partially Auton-conditioned victim of the Master, a nurse Helen Newman. I've adapted her Auton parts too and had a chat with her. She's agreed to be Maisie's care provider, and I think along with that, a military education and a permanent recruitment or secondment to UNIT, Maisie could go a long way and live at least something akin to a normal life. It's not ideal, but it's practical.

I do hope you and everyone at UNIT will do all you can for her, and that everything goes swimmingly. You know how to contact me if anything goes wrong. Give my regards to Benton, Jo Grant, Sarah-Jane and anyone else who remembers me, and of course, take care of yourself.

Until we meet again, all the best,

The Doctor.

**Second Epilogue**

The body on the mortician's slab wasn't the only corpse in the room. It was just the only essentially incomplete one. Beside the slab, on the floor, the mortician lay dead too, and around the cold tile and concrete room were littered randomly the corpses of other members of staff. The body on the slab had still not been identified, and with the head, hands and feet pickled in a jar in the Master's TARDIS, of course it never would be. No one would ever know why Philip Lea had been killed, save the Master, the two Auton Avatars that had survived the fire and little Maisie Wright, the lost Avatar, who could not be accounted for. Maybe she had become a companion of the Doctor, sentimental imbecile that he was, although it was more likely that he whisked her off in his TARDIS to a time and place that provided a society into which she could be integrated. Keeping an Auton Avatar, however apparently safe it might appear, in one's TARDIS without the devices to completely control its actions would be like keeping a live tiger in one's house. Constantly dangerous.

The tiger slinked past the Master, giving his emaciated husk a casual glance as it wandered coolly out of the console room, slowly waving its tail. The Master took his hand away from the Tissue Compression Eliminator and used what was left of his face to grin as he looked into his scanner screens at the scene of destruction in the morgue outside. There was more to do here. There were other ways yet to entrap the Doctor. There was another Nestene in a jar in the room now guarded by the tiger. A few months, maybe a year, to make a new plan, and then everything could continue. But first that body had to be properly disposed of. The Master wished he had activated the Auton Avatars sooner. He could have used them to kill Lea and then simply vaporise his body, but unfortunately he had only activated two units at the time, and those he had had to send home looking beautiful and brand new in order to advertise his success with 'cosmetic enhancement' and encourage the flood of new patients. Of course it had been fun watching Lea squirm and listening to him scream as the Master cut off his hands and feet with a laser cutter, and rather amusing thereafter to use the said cutter to chop off Lea's head. Lea had poked his nose into things that he needn't have, and he'd been at the telephone trying to ring the police. An investigation, the Master had thought at the time, might not have helped matters. And of course he'd been right. Three policemen come into the house and it burns down. He looked at the two women standing outside his TARDIS. "Destroy!" he rasped. "Total destruction!"

he screens of his scanner flared with the effects of continuous blasts from standard Auton weapons. The TCE-modified ones didn't clear up quite so much mess. After a while, the smoke cleared and the mortuary room was empty. Perfect. Nothing to indicate there had ever been a body there, and no living witnesses (not to mention no dead witnesses whose bodies could actually be found). Pulling the control lever to open the doors of his TARDIS, the Master sent the signal to call his Auton Avatars back inside. He'd need to take off for a while, hide his TARDIS somewhere safe where it wouldn't be disturbed and sit inside plotting his next move. "It isn't over, Doctor," he whispered quietly. "It's just beginning."


End file.
